


Layers

by Shachaai



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 19:44:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19730524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shachaai/pseuds/Shachaai
Summary: Hot chocolate does terrible things to clothing.





	Layers

**Author's Note:**

> Crossposted from my tumblr.

“You know you’re supposed to drink the hot chocolate, not wear it.”

“Yes, yes.” England waves away the comment and all of Belgium’s amusement, her other hand firmly keeping hold of the borrowed towel around her chest. Having been forced to strip off her jumper and the bra underneath it and then take a quick wash after spilling half a mug of (thankfully not _too_ hot) hot chocolate down her front, England is feeling rather _cold_ , gooseflesh pinpricked all over her exposed skin. “Give me clothes and _then_ you may mock me all you wish.”

Belgium only smiles at her, amused, rifling through the wardrobe in her bedroom for a shirt that won’t hang on England’s - flat(ter) - chest like a sadly deflated hot air balloon. “Are you saying that I’d mock a _guest?_ ”

“With great regularity.”

“I wouldn’t _mock_ you, England.”

Rain splatters off the windows, smearing the view of Brussels outside like a watercolour lost to a storm, and England shivers. Luckily, her jeans had escaped the hot chocolatey doom that had felled her top, but a towel - however fluffy - around her breasts is no replacement for a cosy jumper. She’s glad to be staying the night at Belgium’s; she has little desire to go venturing out into the cold of that rain.

Belgium returns with one of her smaller blouses, a long-sleeved button-up with a light pastel pattern of teacups and macarons on white. A shirt alone will have to do - all her underwear is designed for a woman with wider hips and a bigger bust than England, and none of it will fit the British Nation. (They’ve tried the loans in a few instances of desperation in the past.) “ _Teasing_ you, though, is very different.”

“Ah, _nuances._ ” England loosens the tight grip on her towel and waits for Belgium’s eyes to drop in distraction at the revealed skin before she speaks again. “So would it be teasing or mockery to tell you that you’ve had a hot chocolate moustache on your face for the past ten minutes?”

“…I do not!”

“You do _too,_ ” England says with a certain spark of wicked glee, and reaches out to snatch the blouse from Belgium’s hands before Belgium can accidentally take it with her in her horrified about-face to the nearest mirror.

England dons the garment as Belgium squawks in dismay at her reflection and begins scrubbing at her chocolate moustache with a tissue, sidling out of the way with a laugh when Belgium throws the balled-up tissue at her afterwards and it misses. Terribly.

“I _should_ mock you,” Belgium tells her with a pout, interrupting England’s hands doing up the blouse buttons so she can do them up herself. Her knuckles skim England’s belly and the valley between her breasts as she works, and England shivers once more for a reason that finally has little to do with the cold. “You’d deserve it.”

“It would be a wasted effort, love,” England says with a smile, and leans in to kiss the pink blush spread so prettily over Belgium’s cheek nose nudging at the swing of Belgium’s hair. “France tells me that I take contempt as an ego-boost.”

“I’ll do it in Flemish just to confuse you.”

“I’d take that for dirty talk.” England smoothes her hand down the front of her borrowed blouse once Belgium finishes buttoning it, rolling her shoulders back to check its fit. It’s too big on her, naturally, but not _too_ too big, and its material is cool and smooth over her nipples, which is all one really needs when they go braless under clothes.

(It’s an adorable blouse. How does Belgium always find such adorable blouses?)

“Can I steal one of your jumpers to put on top of this as well?”

Belgium has already turned to fetch England one, bless her. “As long as you promise not to dump another mug of hot chocolate down the front of it. I don’t think _brown_ is your colour.”


End file.
